The Safeword is 'Papa'
by Deiter Ginsberg
Summary: Finnick's POV. Fin has a dark secret: He actually LIKES dressing up as a toddler and having someone take care of him! So he makes a financial arrangement with his best friend and partner in crime to do just that. Everything was going fine for a while... but lately Finnick has begun to wonder if his new 'Papa' is getting more out of this than he lets on. Please read/review!
1. Chapter 1

Am I weird?

No, really – am I?

Even as I write this, I can't tell. I'm almost 30 years old, two-foot-nothing _minus_ ears, and I weigh about as much as a pillow. I wear Hawaiian shirts in the winter and I'm currently in between housing and job opportunities. I think I have a boyfriend, but I'm not sure.

I'm typing this part on my phone. We stayed up all night watching a monster movie marathon. I'm on his chest, in my jammies. He's dead asleep with his arm around me, cradling me. The bastard. It was my beddie-bye time over two hours ago. If he thinks he's getting paid for tonight, he can go fornicate himself with a bag of rusty nails.

This is a terrible, _terrible_ opening for a romance story.

Let me try again.

* * *

I hesitated before knocking on the RV door, steeling my resolve for the third time since all this started. Before my little fist even reached the rusted surface, the hatch opened with a metallic creak.

"Hey Champ," said Shitface McGrinstoomuch, squatting down over his knees to send a smirk my way. "Ready for our little sleepover?"

I flicked him on the nose a bit harder than I meant to. "We ain't started yet. Get the fuck out my face with that shit."

Rubbing his snout, Lord Dickbag ushered me inside, almost shutting the door on my tail. I dropped my goody bag in the little kitchenette area, wasting no time in opening the clasps and rooting around for my change of clothes and various other accoutrements.

"Hungry?"

"Nah," I said, patiently avoiding his gaze. "Ate before heading over."

"Thirsty?"

"I'll grab a beer from the fridge later."

"Ohh, I'm afraid that won't be possible once we start!"

I sighed. _This motherfucker._ "Alright then. Crack me one. I'm gonna need something to get through this."

Obediently, the walking cold sore produced a filigreed can of mid-shelf beer out of the leaky old fridge, popping the tab and leaning it down to me. I snatched it, chugged it, crushed the can on my forehead and flung it vaguely in the direction of the trash.

"What do you want the word to be?"

"I don't care," I said, teetering, silently lamenting the head rush that was soon to follow.

"Oh c'maan. It's something you gotta remember. Make it cute this time."

 _Cute._ Just hearing the word sent a shiver up my spine. "I literally don't care. You pick. I'm gonna go destroy your shower. Do NOT knock."

I pivoted around the door leading into Lord Cockbreath's broom closet of a bathroom, dodging the Cheshire grin he was casting my way as I locked myself in.

One luxurious, hot water tank-depleting shower later, I made a mess of his towel drying off, leaving it wet and wadded on the back of the toilet as I slipped into my uniform for the evening. Doing a sick parkour jump from the toilet to the sink, I studied myself in the toothpaste-flecked mirror, turning this way and that beneath the one working incandescent bulb.

Okay. Ready.

Slowly, carefully, quietly… I began to open the door, taking a deep breath as I readied to cross the threshold into another life, another me.

 _Just do it pussy_ , I mentally scolded myself. An interesting choice of words, in hindsight.

* * *

"Daddy?"

He was sprawled across the bottom bunk in the back of the RV, an eerie light playing across his pointed face as he studied the boxy TV set up on the nightstand. When he heard me come in, he sat up, palming sleep from his eye. "Hey Champ. All done?"

I nodded.

"Did you wash your paws?"

I nodded.

"Can I see?"

I held my paws out to him, pads up. He stooped down to examine them, then smiled and tousled my headfur. "Good boy. You ready for movie night?"

I gasped as he picked me up, resisting the fading urge to bite his face off. "Y-yeah!"

My ears fanned down as he kissed between them. Electricity shot up my spine, making me black out for a second. When I came to, my arms were around his neck. Not choking the life out of him for once, but rather in a loose, affectionate hug.

"Whaddya wanna watch, kiddo?"

He held me aloft so that I could study his meager VHS collection, most of which I'd brought over myself for just such an occasion. "B-Beauty and the Beast!"

Nick sighed. "C'mon buddy… we've seen that movie five times already!"

Twisting around to face him, I gave Nick my best puppy dog eyes, ears drooping down to my shoulders. "Pwease?"

At this Nick rolled his eyes. Not his usual eye roll, mind you. More 'indulgent father' than 'snarky asshat'.

"You're killin' me, kiddo. _Okaaayy_. Tell ya what… we'll watch Beauty and the Beast, and then we'll catch what's left of the monster movie marathon. Deal?"

I grinned cheekily. "Deal!"

He smiled, holding me in his arms. "There's my little guy." Then he kissed me.

It wasn't supposed to be weird. Dads kiss their sons all the time when they're this age. But this was all still so new to me. Lightning shot through me again, and again I must have blacked out, because when I came to we were just ending a kiss that felt like it had been going on a wee bit too long, and just a wee bit on the wrong side of platonic.

My vision came back into focus. He was smiling down at me.

"Good boy."

Cuddling me to his chest, Nick turned to head us back into the sleeping quarters. As he did, I caught sight of the chalk board on the fridge.

At its inception, I guess the board was intended for grocery reminders, or Honey Do lists. Instead, scrawled across its surface in an airy cursive, someone had painstakingly lettered the words...

THE SAFEWORD IS 'PAPA'

...in flamboyant pink chalk.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sooooh…?"

I was focused on stamping footprints into the snow and wasn't paying attention when Daddy… err, _Nick…_ paused to lean against the shed wall, arms crossed, looking at me.

"So what?"

"So what was up with you at the hustle today?"

I pulled my elephant hoodie down to palm my face. Even in the Arctic district, work caused me to break out in sweat.

I shrugged. "Just committed to the role I guess."

Nick had his face propped up in his palm and was busy scratching his chin, eying me pensively.

"Y'know… ever since we started doing this bit, I've noticed you've been getting more and more into it. I mean… you talk like a kid… you enjoy getting picked up and held like a kid. It's like you turn into a totally different person. It's difficult to get you out of your elephant pajamas at the end of each day."

My eyes widened, looking down. Holy fuck ~ I was still wearing them, wasn't I?

I scowled dismissively. "Yeah? So what? I don't feel like changing just to get sweaty doing this. Now are you gonna flap your gums all day or are we gonna get these bitches ready for the lunch rush?"

Pushing off the wall, Nick gathered up his bundle of pawpsicle sticks, resuming his station laying them neatly behind me as I went.

"Y'know," he said after a long while, sounding lost in thought. "I've known a couple of guys like you. If you wanted to, we could probably work something out."

My ears perked up. I stopped what I was doing, badly smearing two pawpsicle molds as I rounded on him. "What's your game, Wilde?"

"No game!" Nick held up his paws. "Times are tough. I'm just trying to make a little extra scratch on the side. Debts to pay off, vixens to woo and all that. SO… how about this. Once a week, I'll agree to keep doing the caring parent thing after con hours are over, and you can keep the onesie on. And in exchange, all I ask is for a 60/40 cut of the week's take."

"GET FUCKED!"

"Keep your voice down!" Nick hissed. "It's not as if we pay _rent_ here!"

I glowered at him, simultaneously boiling with rage and slightly curious. He avoided my gaze as he smoothed out the pawpsicle mold with his thumb, neatly laying a stick halfway down the palm. "Tell you what… think on it and get back to me. No rush. And it goes without saying that this deal comes with a judgment-free guarantee. I won't give a fuck about how you get your rocks off, so long as I get paid. Now c'mon… you man the funnel, I'll work the flow. Let's get this done."

* * *

I didn't speak to him for the rest of the day.

 _That bastard,_ ran my thinking as I sulked on the drive back to my alleyway. _Who the hell does he think he is? I am a grown-ass little man, thank you VERY much._

And yet, not even two weeks later, I found myself knocking on his door. Before I knew it, I was in his arms for the very first time, getting rocked gently back and forth against his chest as he hummed an old nursery rhyme. My head swam from the body contact, the warmth of his fur, the friction in my jammies. It was all too much.

To his credit, Baron Von Asshat was a true professional. He never once broke character and seemed to be drawing from some deep reserve of parental knowledge as he took care of me. He was cool and collected, remaining in charge without being too stern, and generally played the part of a single dad to the letter.

That first night, we made rice crispies together. Fucking _rice crispies!_

I could tell he really wanted that extra ten percent, because he acted more like a parent who only had weekend custody of his child. That first night, we ran the gambit: board games, Disney movies, _rice crispies_ , and a metric fuckton of cuddling.

I've done cocaine before. In the late 80's. I'm not proud of it, I'm not ashamed of it, but there it is: I've snorted cocaine before. And let me tell you… if I had to choose between a rolled-up twenty filled with baking soda and Contra dust, or cuddling with Nick in my jammies, I'd pick… cocaine. Because cocaine is awesome.

But if I didn't have the cash for an 8-ball, Nick would definitely be a close second.

"Getting sleepy Champ?" he purred as I yawned. I nodded, snuggling down against him.

"Wanna hit the sack?"

I worked my face back and forth into his chest tuft. I knew that once the sun rose through the RV's dusty blinds, my carriage would turn back into a pumpkin and my dress would turn to tatters.

(Hashtag: we watched Cinderella. Hashtag: real princess problems.)

And in that moment, more than anything I just didn't want _us_ to turn back into our old selves. I wanted so badly to stay Papa and Fin a little while longer. I dreaded the dawn stealing us away for another week, replacing us with Finnick the Asshole and Dickbag McGee.

Well, despite my protests, it was past my bedtime. My face unhinged in a yawn as Nick picked me up by my armpits, pressing me to his chest. I fully expected him to place me on the top bunk, to tuck me in. Instead, he layed us down together on the bottom bunk, my cheek nestled in his chest fur, his arm swaddled around me.

I remember thinking how I wanted to stay like that forever. Listening to the rise and fall of his chest. Feeling his fingers stroking gently along the back of my neck, lulling me to sleep.

"G'night buddy," he whispered into the cone of my ear. "See ya in the morning."

But even in that twilight between sleep and wakefulness, I knew his words weren't true.

Papa and Fin were going away, disappearing like fog into the night. They wouldn't be seeing each other again for another week.


	3. Chapter 3

Rain hammered the sheet metal roof of my van. I could not sleep, and after three glass bottles of Starbucks® vanilla-flavored Frappuccino® chugged in rapid succession I had become a living conduit of impotence and pent-up homosexual rage.

I wanted to fuck something. But I wasn't sure what.

For a brief moment, I thought, maybe a girl would fit the bill. But that ship has long-since sailed, hasn't it Finnick my good fox? Oh yes, most definitely. Occupying it's dock in port now is a long phallic submarine, painted an obnoxious pink and positively _turgid_ with seamen. Chiseled seamen kissing eachother on the mouth beneath the gusting signal flags, rubbing cocoa butter all over their washboard abs.

I have no idea what I'm talking about.

I stared up at the leaking roof of my van, digging my Skull Candies further down into my ears as I struggled to think through angry metal.

Do I find him attractive? I dunno. I can see where someone else might. He's got a broad smile, if you're into that sort of thing. Bright eyes. Thick orange fur that just… swallows you up… like a warm tide beneath a Hawaiian sunset, making you feel safe and protected and at peace with yourself, and –

My half-closed eyelids shot open. As I daydreamed, my paw had been making a beeline down my belly en route to my lap. "FUCK! Are you serious?!"

I considered giving him a call. It wasn't Friday – _our_ day. What snarky thing would he say if he rolled over on his cot and read the LED numbers spelling my desperation?

Another Starbucks® vanilla-flavored Frappuccino® later, I was too crazed to care. I dialed the little cockbag's number.

It rang.

Once… twice… three times… five times… _seven_ …

"B'wuh?" someone gurgled from the other end.

At that moment, I realized I hadn't thought about what I might say. I didn't even know what I wanted! Did I want to do the Papa/Fin thing? Did I want him to hold me, spank me, take me to dinner, pin me to the wall of a dirty outhouse and fuck me senseless? **WHAT?**

After an interminable silence, I settled on the first thing that came to my mind…

"Get a job, you Commie!"

… and then hung up the phone.

Not fifteen seconds later, as I lay curled in the fetal position, my phone rang against my belly.

My fingers shook as I swiped the green icon. "Yeah?"

"You know I have caller ID on my phone, right? Just like every other person on planet earth these days? Right?"

My throat felt impossibly dry. "Leave me alone."

"Dude, _you called me!_ "

I curled tighter around the phone. "Shut up. I don't know. Shut up."

I could hear the mattress shift beneath him as he sat up. "Uh-huh. So what's going on? Looking to get a head start on our little weekend ritual?"

"I don't have any money," I said. Which was true. Between the mob, loan sharks and a fairly insistent drinking problem, I barely broke even at the end of each week.

"Do you wanna just hang out then?"

I chewed the corner of my pillow. "I… don't know. I want… I don't know _what_ I want." I pinched the bridge of my nose, sighing. "I don't know why I called you."

"Hmm…" I could practically hear the corners of his mouth turning up. "Well… how 'bout this. Papa and Fin have a few more days before their next meet-up. So… howzabout I make my way over there… we put on an old John Wu movie… smoke some weed… and just hang out. Free of charge. Just bros being bros. Sound like a plan?"

I was curled so tightly around my phone, I must have looked like an over-boiled shrimp from above. "Y-yeah. I mean… whatever. Come or don't. I don't care." _Please come. Please come._

"Dope. See you in twenty." The phone went dead.

I stared in disbelief at the stark white screen as my caffeine-riddled mind had every thought imaginable.

 _Are we really gonna chill? Or, like… "Netflix and Chill"?_

Is he gonna spend the night?

 _Why the FUCK did I call him?!_

 _I wonder if his tongue can fit in my mouth._

 _Fuck ~ STOP! That's gay!_

 _Well maybe I'm gay! I don't fucking know!_

This went on for quite a while. So long, in fact, that before I knew it there came a soggy knock at my van's back door.


	4. Chapter 4

Allow me to set the scene for you.

It's late at night. Pouring down rain. The inside of my van reeks of humidity, dirty laundry and decades of cannabis abuse. There's a soggy orange fox sitting on my mattress in just his khaki shorts, toweling himself dry with what may or may not have been my jizz towel, working it delicately over the scruff of his neck as he maintained eye contact with me.

"S'really coming down out there."

"Uh-huh."

I'm suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to reach out and touch him. Maybe on his arm. Or his chest. I don't, obviously.

"So… what we gonna watch?" Without asking for permission, Nick flopped himself down on my mattress, tucking my lumpy old pillow behind him. The way he was situated – tap dead center in front of the TV – led me to believe that if we were gonna do any tag team movie-watching, I would need to get really close. To further drive this home, Nick placed his paw gently on the small of my back and said, "C'mere. I'm cold as fuck."

It was as if my body had a mind of its own, because before I knew it, I had scooted down against him, laying my head in the shallow of his shoulder. His arm slowly coiled around me.

* * *

Ten minutes into _Hard Boiled_ , everything was fairly normal. Nick's fingers gently stroked along my side from the scruff of my neck to the base of my tail and back again. Someone (I forget who) produced a blunt and we passed it back and forth. Laying with him like this was… strange. Resting against his naked chest, my fingers seemed to disappear in his fur. My vision blurred pleasantly and I soon found myself purring.

"You are too cute for words," he said after a long tug of the half-smoked roach. "You know that?"

I was too high and warm to protest, and didn't even bat an eye when his fingers eased my chin up. He kissed me softly. I kissed back. When we parted, he pressed the tapered end of the blunt to my lips for me to take a drag.

"Y'know… we could do a whole lot more of this from now on. If you wanted to."

"I ain't gay," I mumbled, eyes half-lidded as I cuddled back down, blowing wisps of smoke against his chest.

"Mm-hmm."

* * *

At some point during the night we started drinking. A short while after that, I was straddling his chest with my tongue in his mouth, trying to kiss him to death.

"Mmmmph," he smirked, fingers knitted together over his belly as he allowed me to french him. Our tongues danced together as my palms dug into the tufts of fur along his cheeks, pulling him up against me.

We paused just long enough for him to peel off my shirt. When I dove on his mouth once more, it was with the knowledge that, in all likelihood, I was about to have sex with another guy for the first time in my life. And you know what? After half a freezer bag of OG Kush and three imported German beers, I was pretty okay with that.

He gripped me by the waist, lifting up. Suddenly I was pinned beneath him, moaning as his fingers slid over my chest, my naked belly.

"N-nick..."

He nibbled the scruff of my neck, causing me to wince and moan. "Tell me what you want."

"...I..."

His hand slid between my thighs, working me diligently through the coarse fabric of my khakis. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

I couldn't see straight. The smell of weed, booze and arousal was overwhelming. My head swam as I fought to catch my breath.

"I want..." I gulped for air, eyes screwed shut. "I want… you… to..."

His hand disappeared from my lap. He leaned in, lips brushing against my ear. I could practically hear him smirk as he whispered, "Ooh, I'm afraid that's all the time we have for today."

My eyes shot open. He was sitting cross-legged on the mattress next to me, starting to tug on his Hawaiian tee. _"What?!"_

"Yeah dude," Nick smirked down at the buttons on his shirt as he fastened them. "I only promised to hang out. Remember? 'Bros being bros'? Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is most definitely _not_ bro-like activity." He finished the last button and smiled at me. "Besides, you're pretty drunk. Wouldn't want you to do anything you'd regret, now, would I?"

I couldn't decide if I felt more angry, relieved, horny or high. I wanted to claw his face off. I also wanted him inside me.

"But…" he continued, checking his reflection in a little side mirror I kept on the nightstand, smoothing down his ruffled fur. "I suppose I could eventually be persuaded to ravage your tiny little bod. For another measly ten percent of the week's take, that is."

I blinked, trying to make his words make sense in my cannabis-addled brain.

" **YOU MANKY MOTHER** ** _FUCKER!"_** I screamed at the top of my lungs.

But by that point Nick had his hand on the latch to the back door and was carefully easing himself onto the sidewalk. "Just think it over and get back to me. See ya this Friday, sweet cheeks."

I managed to lob three empty beer bottles at him before the door closed, leaving me teetering, seething and painfully erect in the darkened recesses of my foul-smelling van.


	5. Chapter 5

Star wipe to two weeks later, I have become a certified bag of ass.

I haven't showered in three days. My fur is matted and sticky with sweat and other miscellaneous fluids. Crumpled cigarette filters litter the ground wherever I am, and I'm getting all my hydration from Red Bulls instead of water.

And no, I haven't seen _him_ since that night. So don't even ask.

 _I suppose that's my whole problem,_ I think as I finish off the last Virginia Slim in the pack, crumpling the paper box in one shaking paw and winging it at a pigeon that had ventured too close to my park bench.

Families strolling along the sidewalk avoided making direct eye contact with me. They probably thought I was homeless. Which technically I am, I suppose.

I became aware of the weight of my phone in my pocket. I wanted to call him. At least I could admit that to myself. That's progress, right?

Just a few hours prior, as I was slumped over a plate of runny waffles and burnt bacon at the local Waffle House, it occurred to me for the first time in my life that I might be gay. And not just regular gay 'neither. No. _Gay-_ gay. The type of gay where you _really_ want to call up your asshole best friend and beg him to come over and take you to Pound Town in the back of your panel van. THAT gay.

All I have to do is close my eyes and we're back in my van again. He's over me, touching me, nibbling my throat as his fingers snake beneath my shirt. I can taste the booze on his breath. I can smell the weed in his fur. It all comes flooding back. The way his outstretched arms caged me beneath him… how my legs hooked around his hips… the firm bulge in his shorts grinding against the bulge in mine…

I cracked open an eye. The pigeon from before was bobbing its head and looking up at me with it's creepy orange eye, easily within punting distance of my right leg. I sent it flying. It pinwheeled through the air like a scattering leaf before righting itself and pealing off, cooing indignantly.

I massaged my throbbing temples, an anguished sigh escaping me. What difference would it make? I was already a wreck. What more did I have to lose? I retrieved the phone from my pocket, staring at it nestled between my upturned paws for what felt like an eternity before dialing his number.

This time he picked up before the third ring.

"Yelloh?"

I glared down into the receiver, saying nothing.

"Miss me yet?"

"Wilde," I growled. "I swear to god."

"So when are we gonna bump uglies?"

Pinching the space between my brows until purple flecks swam through my vision, I swallowed audibly. "I don't have any money."

"Huh?"

"Money," I growled. "You said you wanted another ten percent of the cut. _Remember?"_

"Bwuh? Oh - yeah! I did say that. Well, tell you what. I'm not an unreasonable guy. Times are hard. The economy ain't what it used to be. Sub-prime lending, corporate bailouts and all that. So howzabout this: in lieu of cash, I'll let you pay me another way."

 _Oh joy._

"Seven o'clock tonight, be outside your van in your dressiest attire. I suggest the polo and chinos you wore to that job interview that one time. Don't eat a big lunch."

My diet of late had consisted mostly of Skittles and bong hits, so no problem there.

"Nick," I started.

"Don't be late," he said, followed shortly by the line going dead.

I stared at the patch of grass directly in front of me, too shell shocked to punt away the gaggle of pigeons gathered at my feet, seeking vengeance for their recently punted comrade.

* * *

"Well don't you just look _spiffy!"_

I glowered up at his silhouette outlined in the setting sun, fidgeting in my dress slacks and a slightly too-tight polo shirt.

"You ready for our hot date, babbehcakes?"

Nick was in a loose white linen suit that looked like it had time traveled here from the 1980's, complete with the sleeves rolled up, a plunging v-neck undershirt and rose-tinted aviator glasses. His head scruff was slicked back with gel. He smelled clean.

"Shut up. What is this?"

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" Nick stooped to pick a lint ball from my shoulder. "I'm taking you out. To dinner and a movie no less! And you can leave that empty wallet at home, 'cause I'm footing the bill."

By this point we were heading down the sidewalk running in front of my alley, toeing around slow-moving pedestrians as we kept a respectable distance away from eachother. "And… this is supposed to cover me paying you… how?"

Nick chuckled, slowing is stride to match my pace. He had his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, and for the first time ever I noticed that he was more than a little handsome. Now that he was showered and dressed, he was _stunning._

"Whelp… here's the deal. I'm paying for dinner and a movie, as I said. What's more, I'll agree to forgo charging you for my various parental and escort...al… services for two weeks. But in exchange, you're gonna do something for me."

"I'm not doing anything kinky," I growled. "Our friendship is weird enough as it is."

"Nothing like that. But I do appreciate the offer, and we'll certainly come back to that later. No – what I want from you is a lot easier. For the duration of this evening… from now until I see you safely to your door and give you a kiss goodnight… you're going to roleplay with me."

We rounded a street corner, and at once I realized that we were heading into the Gayborhood.

"Roleplay… _how?"_

"I'm so glad you asked! For the remainder of the night, you will be my sweet, soft-spoken, affectionate boy-toy. And I, in turn, will be your doting, vaguely paternal boyfriend."

My eyes shot open wide. My mouth suddenly felt as dry as the desert district. "No way."

"Yes way," Nick paused with his hand on the paneled glass of a restaurant door, smiling down at me mischievously. "What's more, if you break character even once the entire night, the deal is off. And I'll never do the Papa/Fin thing with you again. Ever."

I went to protest. But the door was swinging open, and a husky boar in an apron was ushering us inside.

"Good evening! Table for two?"

"Yep!" Nick turned to wiggle his eyebrows at me. "After you, babe."

Staring in at the recessed lights and tasteful atmosphere just beyond the _maître d',_ I felt a sudden pang of anxiety settling in my gut. The look in Nick's eyes said that I was on, that this was my cue. He arched an eyebrow, sizing me up.

All of a sudden, my mouth spoke without my meaning it to. "Why thank you handsome," came the words tumbling from my lips. My body seemed to move independent of my will. I tugged at the hem of Nick's jacket in passing, making sure to graze him gently with my tail. "Such a _gentleman_."

The whiskery boar smiled knowingly and gathered up two laminated menus. "Right this way boys."


	6. Chapter 6

Down a flight of worn stairs, the floorplan opened onto an egg-shaped dome seemingly carved into the very bedrock. The ceiling rose to a rounded point almost four stories above us. At the center of the limestone egg where the yolk might have been was an ancient-looking tree, it's branches sagging beneath untrimmed boughs. How it survived down here on paper lanterns and no natural sun, I had no idea. Tables were strewn about beneath it's scrawling branches, candles flickering along their lacquered surfaces, casting a warm, dim light. It was a dark, bustling affair, densely populated by rich-looking diners and even richer smells.

"Right this way."

We were seated opposite each other at a low table with two ottomans for seats. A waitress came and took our drink orders. Once she was gone, I surveyed the room with amazement. I leaned across the table's lacquered surface and hissed, _"Nick! Where the hell are we?"_

" _Dandelion Curry House,"_ Nick hissed back. _"Why are we whispering?"_

"How the hell did you even find this place?"

Nick grinned. "Oh. Let's just say this used to be a bar. The kind with a lot of brass poles, if'n you catch my meaning."

"This place looks expensive as shit! How the hell can you possibly afford…"

Then it occurred to me. Nick wiggled his eyebrows, sticking out the tip of his tongue.

"Ohhh," I glared at him, the corner of my eye twitching. "You _bitch._ "

Nick chuckled. "Oh c'mon… we're gonna have a good time. Besides, what were you going to do with that money anyways? Buy more energy drinks and cigarettes?"

I bit down hard on my lip. This night was going to be a bitch on stilts. I could already tell.

* * *

Some time later, I found myself staring out across a smorgasbord of Indian cuisine that couldn't have filled my stomach fast enough, no matter how much of it I scarfed down. There were earthenware bowls piled high with curry of every variety, kebabs, mounds of rice, sheets of naan large enough for me to raft down the Ganges on. FUCK! It felt like I hadn't eaten in days!

Across the table, Nick watched me with his cheek propped up in his hand, a wan smile in the corners of his mouth. "Good?"

I nodded vigorously, swallowing. "Fucking tits, man! I haven't eaten this good since I got out of prison!"

Nick grinned. "Glad you like it." And then I felt his foot pressing against mine. The warm pads of his big toe brushed against my heel, and at first I thought, maybe it had been an accident. Then the rest of his foot followed suit, and before I knew it we were playing footsie beneath the table.

"Nick," I growled in a low voice, nose flushing red. "N-not here."

He rolled his eyes. "We had a deal, Finn. And besides… take a look around you. Notice anything?"

Following his gaze, I surveyed each low-seated table in turn. Sure enough… a lot of the tables… MOST of the tables, in fact… had guys at 'em. As in, _just_ guys. Well-groomed and impeccably dressed. Together.

I shrunk down a little on my ottoman, trying to disappear into my polo's collar. "Nick, where the hell did you take me?"

To this, Nick shrugged, his smug face still propped up in his hands. "Dandelion Curry House caters to mostly men of the queer variety. Y'know. Good food. Tasteful décor. Thursday night is drag night. That whole bit. Figured it'd be nice to get you out of your element a little. Maybe take you somewhere you could relax… let your guard down."

My eyes widened as his hand reached across the table, finding mine and curling around it.

I stared down at his hand, watching his thumb stroke over my tawny fur. My heart fluttered in my chest without my permission.

"Can I get you guys anything?" said the waitress who seemed to have a knack for materializing at the worst possible moment.

It took every screed of my willpower to not jerk my hand away. "Alcohol," I muttered.

"Okay. What kind, sir?"

"Doesn't matter. Just bring two of 'em."

* * *

Oh, my head.

I am laying with my cheek pressed to the table, surrounded by dirty dishes and drained tumblers. Everything is double and I'm nauseous. Indian food and fireballs don't really go together, I guess.

From somewhere high above my body, I become aware that I'm chuckling. Nick is telling me a funny story. Something about a leopard in a laundromat trying to get spots out of his clothes. I tried to pretend it wasn't hilarious, but Nick did amazing impersonations. And besides, it had all the hallmarks of a great comedy: irony and playful racism.

It was about midway through his story when I realized something.

 _He's going to be inside me later._

The thought just entered my head out of nowhere! _I'm going to let him fuck me._ Just like that! No warning. No preamble. Just… suddenly, the gayest thing I've ever thought.

Leveraging my palms against the table, I hoisted my head up to look at him, squinting into the middle distance to bring his two kaleidoscoping mugs into focus. He halted his story, eyeing me with concern.

 _He's kind of cute,_ thought my whiskey-addled brain after some deliberation.

"You okay, big guy?"

Slowly, carefully, I eased off my ottoman, using the edge of the table as a guide as I made my way around to where he was sitting.

"Fin, what the –"

I ignored him as I climbed into his lap. He stared down at me, ears perked up, eyes wide as my claws dug into his shirt, pulling him down.

I kissed him. Not as rough as I'd meant to. Just a deliberate, two-second pressing of the lips. When we broke, I didn't bother gauging his reaction, opting instead to rest my cheek against his chest, purring as I took in his cologne.

"Nick," I sighed after a time. "I think we've overstayed our welcome."

His arm swaddled me, holding me close. He chuckled. "Yeah… guess we have been here for a while."

I nodded into his chest.

"Feel like catching a movie? Or… we could maybe go sit in the park. Let you grab some fresh air."

"Nick… I am full of food and soused to the gills. You smell good. And just a few minutes ago, it finally occurred to me how badly I wanna have sex with you."

I could hear his heartbeat pick up through the soft fabric of his shirt. "So… that's a 'no' to the park then."

I closed my eyes, sighing loudly. "Take me back to my van. You're staying the night."

The tip of his tongue flicked across the tip of my ear, making me shudder. "Oh, I think we can do a little better than that."

And then, to the waitress as she passed, "If I could get that check, please ma'am."


	7. Chapter 7

Nick had gotten us a hotel room in the gayborhood. The cheeky bitch.

The gesture, sweet and romantic though it was, was completely lost on me at the time. We were too busy trying to kill each other with our tongues to notice the décor.

I found myself in the elevator, up in his arms, kissing the breath out of him. Down the velvet-lined hallway, clawing the clothes off his bones. Nibbling his throat as he fumbled the card key from his pocket. _Room A-113_ the door read, my back slamming painfully against it. _Click._ In we went, tumbling through the door like the drunks we were.

Pink confetti plumed around me as I touched down on the duvet. Rose petals tumbled lazily end over end, right into my face. Fucking hell. He really went all out, didn't he?

Clothes were piling on the carpet – our shoes, his jacket, my pants, my shirt, his shirt. The palm of his hand slid over my bare belly, down to the elastic of my underwear.

"N-nick," I seethed, my breath hitching in my throat.

"Shhhh."

He leaned down to brush the tip of his nose against my navel. "I wanna see."

Claws hooked in the waistband, traveling down my hips. The cool room air hit me. I was exposed.

"Mmmmn…" Nick purred, grinning down at me, dismissively dropping my boxers by the side of the bed, the latest stratified layer on the mound. "Now _this_ … was worth the wait."

* * *

Some time later, I was in his lap. We were in in the midst of a tangled nest of satin bedsheets. His hands were on my ass. My feet were hooked around his back.

He was… inside me.

I could never have imagined how it felt. The sensation was… interesting. To say the least.

I remember Nick being so gentle. He'd shift me delicately in his hands like some sort of precious cargo, rocking me against him. My claws dug into his back as I moaned loudly and freely into his chest. Our neighbors, if we had any, probably hated us.

Nick was prodding something in me. Something deep within that had never been touched before. Each pass sent electricity up my spine and made my insides tighten. A few times it even made me squeak out.

"It's okay," Nick whispered, kissing into the cone of my ear. "It's okay. Let it out. I've got you."

And that was the moment. The starting of the centripetal arc that would control my life for the indefinite future.

The moment I realized that I loved him.

* * *

I was being taught a new position, adding to my growing repertoire. Me below, gripping the sheets. Him above, arms outstretched, caging me in between.

"I'll go slow," he promised. "Okay?"

I turned my face against the pillow, nodding my cheek into it.

 _Oh god_ , I thought for the umpteenth time that evening. _Oh god… this feeling!_

I had nothing to compare it to. It was a sensation unique to that singular moment in time for me. It felt good. It hurt. I wanted him to stop. I wanted him to keep going.

I'll admit, this position wasn't my favorite. It eased the tightening sensation a bit, sure. But there was less body contact. And right then, I really needed all of him to be touching all of me.

"Nick," I groaned, fingers gripping the bedsheets, claws pitting holes that we'd later get billed for. "Nick… please…"

It was like he read my mind. He collapsed part of the way down onto me, pinning me beneath him.

"Oh… _fuck_ …"

His hips gently guided mine, sending waves of electricity though me. I remember the cool room air and the starch from the bedsheets stinging my nose and the corners of my eyes. It was too much. All of it. Just… too much. Too soon, and for the second time that evening, I felt that tingling sensation begin to stir. Familiar, but somehow different this time.

"Nick…"

Was that me? Was that really my voice? I'd never sounded like that before.

" _Nick!"_

He must have known because he didn't ease up, didn't let me rest and recover.

"Oh… OH… oh my g– "

I reached out for something to grab on to. I found his arm, gripping his wrist tightly as I came.

* * *

Reverie.

We lay there in the tangled sheets, still together but not quite as intimately. He cradled me from behind, his lanky form curled against mine, his hand resting easily on my belly.

I wanted to tell him, guys. I did. I wanted to tell him so, so badly.

Nick's hand found mine, drawing it up. He kissed the back of it, kneading the palm gently.

The words were right there in my throat. But I couldn't let them free. I just swallowed them in shame.

We all make mistakes in life. Most of the time we don't see them coming. But sometimes, we do.

That evening I watched myself fuck up, fully aware that I was going to. I knew I was making a mistake by not telling him how I felt. But I couldn't bring myself to put the words into being. I was too scared.

And you know what? It hurt.

It really did.


	8. Epilogue

The air from the slowly-churning fan lanced my face as I laid there in the dark, gently combing my fingers through his fur.

Nick had fallen asleep on me. The little cunt pocket.

For the longest time I just stared up at the ceiling, watching the blades stir the air. I listened to the rhythmic rise and fall of Nick's breathing, menacing his flicking ear with the tip of a claw.

 _I love you, you slimy piece of shit._

His head weighed a ton on my chest, making it difficult for me to breathe. Can't say I minded though.

I could feel his heartbeat through my belly. He squeezed me in his sleep like I was his stuffed plaything, snuggling down against me, a contented grin on his face.

 _I love you, you enormous pain in my ass._

His ear kept flicking underneath my chin. I carefully gathered it up in my paw, pressing it to my lips, kissing into it.

 _I love you, you unimaginable bastard._

Full disclosure: my ass hurt. Or rather, it was profoundly sore. Which I guess I should have expected, given the size difference between us. He probably rearranged some stuff up there while we were going at it.

The bedside alarm read 2:04 in big boxy fluorescent numbers. I slipped my paw into his, marveling at how our fingers dovetailed together so perfectly.

I knew that it wouldn't last.

Even then. Even there on the bed, as we held eachother. Even as I was falling head over heels in love with him, a part of me knew that it couldn't last forever.

The day would come when I would fuck this up. When I would push him away for good. It had to happen. There was just no way it wouldn't. I knew myself too well to believe otherwise.

I gathered his ear up again, pressing it back to my lips. "I love you," I whispered softly.

"Mmmf," Nick stirred in his sleep, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Love you too babe."

I shook my head, throwing my arm up, hiding my eyes in the crook of my elbow. At the very least, once the shit finally hit the fan, I'd have this night to remember. The way he touched me. The way he kissed me. The feel of him pushing inside me for the first time. I'd get to re-live these memories whenever I wanted, up until old age and senility took them away from me.

I made a silent promise right then that, futile though it was, I would try. I'd try my best to be the boyfriend he needed me to be, for as long as I had him for. Whether that was a few months or a year or two. And then, once the train finally rolled off the tracks, I'd go back to being the best friend I used to be. No awkwardness. No messy transition. Easy.

I'd still love him, of course. Afterward. From afar. Maybe forever.

But all that was well out of sight, far down the road. Right then, he was mine. I could kiss him, touch him, and play with him all I wanted.

And y'know what? The thought of that had a little grin on my face as I finally drifted off to sleep. With Nick's head heavy on my chest.

Listening to the gentle rise and fall of his breathing.

 **THE END**


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